Wet Ink
by themirrorminder.372259
Summary: Gendrick Baratheon already lived this, as a boy named Gendry. Arya Stark already lived this, as the daughter of Catelyn. Time to win the war they lost before. {only… you don't die and return, without some of the darkness following you back}


**AUTHOR:** 372259

**STORY TITLE**: Wet Ink

**STORY SUMMARY**: Gendrick Baratheon already lived this, as a boy named Gendry. Arya Stark already lived this, as the daughter of Catelyn. Time to win the war they lost before. {only… you don't die and return, without some darkness following you back}

**PAIRINGS:** Arya x Gendry, Rickon x Shireen, Ashara x Ned, Brandon x Cat, others to be determined.

**CHARACTERS:** Arya Stark (born to Ashara Dayne), Gendry (born to Cersei and Robert, known as Gendrick Baratheon), Tywin Lannister, Oberyn Martell, Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Robert Baratheon, Rickon Stark, Shireen Baratheon, and more!

**DISCLAIMER:** Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/ hate it enough to flame ;)

**Preview** of future chapters at the end :D

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**[o-o-o]**

**Wet Ink**

**[o-o-o]**

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**c**h**a**p**t**e**r **o**n**e**:**

a **l**e**g**a**c**y** & **a **l**i**a**r

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_Tywin Lannister loves his children_

_(he just loves his legacy more)_

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"My lord, the prince's party has arrived at the gates."

"Bring him to me."

Tywin Lannister invested a lifetime carving himself into the most politically powerful lord paramount in Westeros. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he rarely receives requests for one-on-one meetings. He orders them, of course, when time-sensitive matters need addressing. Otherwise, few individuals in the Seven Kingdoms dare join him at a bartering table of their own volition, especially without a shield of political advisors. Given the choice, even his bannermen prefer to write requests rather than attempt to face the infamous lion in conversation. The lord of Casterly Rock reads one such letter from a vassal now. Another firm knock interrupts his perusal of Lord Payne's fostering appeal.

"My lord," the guard's gruff voice intones from behind the door. "His majesty the Prince Gendrick Baratheon, for you."

"Let him in."

The lord paramount hears of the many rumours circulating surrounding this grandson, the second-born prince. Although Tywin keeps himself informed on the child via Pycelle's effusive reports, he himself has not laid eyes on the boy since the prince was a squealing babe. Both the rumors and the Grandmaester's words depict the boy as a commendable addition to the Lannister bloodline. _'However,' _Tywin thinks,_ 'I did build my success by forming opinions solely on rumours and senile men.'_

Tonight is a test._ 'Time to judge the merit behind the sea of whispers surrounding Cersei's second son.'_

With a grunt, the Lannister guard pushes open the solar's mahogany door. The boy passes his grandfather's first test easily, when he enters the solar with calm, confident steps. Tywin does not see the gait, his gaze remains on Payne's words. Rather, the older lord easily hears the firm clicking of the prince's boots, the rhythm of the child's unaffected steps.

_'Men thrice this boy's age do not stride with such cool assurance into a room to parlay with me'_.

The steps stop a polite distance from Tywin's desk. By breeding, the boy is half Cersei and half Robert. Accordingly, Tywin knows what his next test will be.

Despite the child's presence, Tywin's attention remains fixed on the letter.

Six minutes of silence pass slowly, yet the boy stands composed, waiting patiently to be acknowledged. Tywin grabs a new parchment, and begins his response to Lord Payne. Eleven minutes pass, yet the solar hosts no rambunctious pacing nor loud protests typical of Robert, nor any impatient foot tapping or sneers of disdain typical of Cersei. Twenty-one minutes later, Tywin's eyes linger on his letters instead of standing to greet his young visitor.

The boy remains unruffled, and Tywin finds himself surprisingly pleased._ 'A chance persists that the boy will not inherit all of his parents' foolishness.'_

So begins test number three.

"Are you going to sit, boy?" Tywin scorns, still looking at his letters. "Or will you remain standing there, like some simpleton?"

A pause.

"Is there a third option, Lord Lannister? It would be poor form to seat myself when I've yet to garner your express leave to do so." The boy's cheek is weaved into his respectful response, which simultaneously annoys (and maybe amuses) the old lion in its echo of a young Jaime. The prince, however, is more eloquent that his Kingsguard uncle and better at word-wielding than any child ought to be at the age of ten. _'Almost like Tyrion,'_ Tywin notes, before casting the unpleasant thought away.

"Sit," commands Tywin, now on his sixth letter. The lord dips his quill into the ink well then starts penning his response to Lord Swyft. "Your letter mentioned a request."

The Baratheon prince does not hesitate.

"I simply request early access to the funds I will be inheriting, my lord."

Tywin's staunch control over his responses is all that halts his head from shooting up to sneer at the boy's gall_. 'Perhaps the boy is more of his mother than I initially believed,'_ Tywin internally bemoans.

"And what funds would those be?" Tywin challenges, still writing.

Again, the boy does not hesitate.

"The accounts belonging to the heir of Casterly Rock."

Tywin's writing slows, which will be the only concession the eastern lord will concede to indicate his piqued interest. "I have two sons," Tywin says, tone ostensibly dismissive.

"The son you acknowledge is bound by the whitecloak for life. The other is heralded as a brothel-obsessed beast, commanding more ridicule than respect from your vassal lords. Neither are candidates for continuing the Lannister legacy."

_Legacy._

The scratch of Tywin's quill ceases. The lord's eyes finally rise from his papers. His green gaze now bores into the child's own. The dark-haired boy refuses to cower under his grandfather's cold gaze, and Tywin respects that his daughter's son does not look away. Lannister green clashes with Baratheon blue. But unlike Robert, the prince's eyes are not clouded by a permanent haze of alcohol, nor lost in the past chasing a ghost.

The boy is Robert's image. If Tywin did not hear Cersei's wails from the other end of the Red Keep when she bore the prince, the eastern lord would never believe the child to be of the Lannister line at all.

Tywin raises a fine brow. "Your great uncle Kevan has sons."

"Who come from Lord Kevan's bloodline, not yours. It's your blood that beats through my veins. I'm smart and strong. I'm heralded a prodigy in my studies and in my swordplay by any maester, master at arms, or foreign trainer who teaches me. I'm beloved by the highborns and lowborns alike." All calm confidence, the boy continues. "I am the son of a king. I'm the best choice to lead the Westerlands."

The lord paramount's shoulders tense progressively throughout the prince's petition. The boy's monologue mirrors every rumour Tywin previously heard, but reeks of a poisonous ambition that the old lion is not unfamiliar with.

"…You sound like the best choice to lead _Westeros_." The Lannister lord's words are quiet, leading, and sharp. If this precocious boy is already recruiting for a rebellion, Tywin will halt the seditious aspiration swiftly. _'I did not win the crown only to lose it in a civil war between spoiled princes,' _Tywin avows. '_The final chapter of the Lannister legacy will not be the Baratheon edition of the Blackfyre Rebellion.'_

(If the Targaryen's reign had taught him one thing, it as how easy family - especially brothers - could turn their cloaks for a crown.)

"I _am_." The dark-haired boy smirks easily. In that slow upturn of the prince's mouth, Tywin finally recognizes the boy's Lannister breeding. "But only fools believe that the king rules Westeros."

Tywin's shoulders relax (likely for the first time in years). The lord's lips pull into a small smirk as he rests his elbows atop the paperwork on the desk. "And who rules?" Tywin steeples his fingers, 'if not his royal majesty, the king?"

"The king is a puppet. He who controls the king, controls Westeros. My elder brother is as volatile as my mother, and of equal foresight as my father. He requires a… competent advisor to ensure his vices do not lose our family its crown. So while he will sit atop a metal throne and spout his puerile orders, I will position myself to manipulate his decrees, ensuring my house has a legacy unmarred by foolish whims. You, Lord Lannister, have had my father playing your game for his entire reign; I merely endeavor to reenact the same."

For the first time in a long time, Tywin Lannister feels _pride._

**[o-o-o]**

Papers are drawn, names are signed. It's all done rather efficiently, in the prince's opinion. His lord grandfather ends the affair by handing the prince a letter to inform his kingly father of Prince Gendrick Baratheon's new inheritance.

Gendry, once seated on his featherbed in the Rock, barely contains his snort at the bitter irony. _'The great Tywin Lannister just signed over his beloved legacy to a boy who remembers the taste of bowl of brown, the stench of Flea Bottom, and the life of a bastard.'_

The old lion's departing words echo in the prince's mind as Gendry settles in for the night.

_"Upon your 18th nameday, you will be Gendrick Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock."_

_"Yes, Grandfather."_

The prince had agreed quickly earlier in the man's solar, too used to the second name he's known to hesitate before responding. Gendry, Gendrick, in the end the name didn't matter. The future did.

_'Oh, but name does matter. It always did,' _his mind whispers._ 'Gendry Waters died. Gendrick Baratheon lives.'_

He brings his hands behind his neck as he stares at the luxurious blood-coloured canopy above him. It is Lannister red, the same shade as the blood he imagines thrums through Joffrey's neck.

Gendry's smile curves more sinisterly.

_'You're wrong, Lord Tywin. By my 18th nameday, I will be Gendrick Baratheon, King on the Iron Throne.'_

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[o-** End of Chapter One **-o]

(_please review if you are interested in reading more chapters in this story! Questions and preview below!)_

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**Question 1**: This is such a strange ask, but would you guys rather Gendry's reborn name be **Dareon, Damian, Gendrick, Steffon, Lyonel, Hadrian, Jaspar, or Durran**? For the record, this _is_ Gendry, he's just reborn in the body of Robert and Cersei's second son (and only trueborn son) while retaining all the memories from his first life. I wanted to do Gendrick, but in my other Arryn-AU gendrya fic, that's Gendry's reborn name and I feel a bit like its cheating if I reuse it (unless no one else minds, in which case, glad to not have to go back and edit chapter one before I post chapter two ;) Let me know what you think!

**Question 2**: It's a bit in your face, but did anyone figure out why the title of the fic is 'wet ink'? ;)

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[o-** Preview of Upcoming Chapters **-o]

Out. All of you, out now.' All the ladies and maids scurry in the face of Cersei's wrath. However, the queen forces her face placid before she kneels before her son. She gently cradles the boy's unbruised cheek. She eyes the other hand-shaped purple mark around his neck. "Sweetling, please tell me," she coaxes delicately, too aware of the boy's reticent nature. "Who did this to you?"

_'Who dares hurt my child?!'_ Her veins roar.

Her son's gaze rips off the ground. "Uncle Jaime was right." Gendrick hisses. "He is no king." The boy's dark blue eyes adopt a teary glare, before he rushes into his mother's arms. The force nearly topples her over, but she stays upright as her son clings to her stomach. One of her arms wraps around his shoulders, as the other gently strokes his dark hair.

"He is an awful king." Gendrick whispers heatedly onto the gold fabric of her dress. "One day I'm going to get rid of him, and put Joffrey on the throne. Joffrey will make a better King." Cersei smiles, and holds the boy tighter_. 'Foolish Robert, you have lost him. He is forever mine now. Wholly and completely mine.'_

…

"Thank you for helping me, Uncle Jaime."

Jaime Lannister looks at him differently then, with something almost like respect. "Your heart is in the right place, Gendrick. But your head isn't."

_'No, Kingslayer, my mind knows exactly what I've done. You just won't realize it until it's too late.'_

…

The child's parentage will need to be kept secret. Robert Baratheon will have the child, as well as all of us, dead within the hour if word of this leaks. Who else knows?

…

"Does it anger you, _my Prince_," she mocks. "It must. To know that I could love a bastard blacksmith a thousand times more than I could ever care for you."

…

you may have my favour but your family doesn't. remember that when you risk my temper.

…

"I do care for him Tyrion… I care more for him then he will ever care for me."

_'I'm still in love with the man he used to be, and the man he is now is in love with power.' _

"He picked you, Lady Arya. He is utterly captivated by you."

_'He chose me because he knew I was a threat.'_

"Perhaps."

…

"I… I don't understand. Why did you save me?"

"You're stupid sometimes, but You're the closest thing to a sister I have. Hell you're the closest thing to a mother I have left. Of course I'm not going to let you die."

…

The prince's blue eyes bore into Ned. "You are a good man, Lord Stark. Now is not the time for good men."

…

"You may have my favour, but your family doesn't. Remember that when you risk my rage."

…

Sometimes there is a cold, dead look in Arya's eyes that terrifies Ned. And what makes it more terrifying is that once she notices the lapse, and she always does, is she believably happy and carefree again. It is as simple for her as donning a mask.

…

Oberyn approaches his goddaughter quietly. He kneels before her, patiently waiting for her grey gaze to meet his own. "You told your father and brother that you do not remember what happened." Gently, Oberyn pulls back a stray brown wave from the girl's eyes. "But, you lie. You lie to spare them from thinking that night haunts you.".../…..And then they both laughed as if I was the funniest joke in the world. They laughed and laughed and _laughed_. I still hear it ringing in my ears. It never stops. I don't think it ever will."

Oberyn's heart clenches and his veins blaze. That Arya relives that nightmare every night sickens him and infuriates him (not dissimilar to the way Elia's fate still does). ….../...Arya's eyes go cold. "One day, I'm going to be so strong, that no one can hurt me again."

Oberyn takes her face with his hands. "I would help you in this however I can. Tell me, Arya. Do you remember anything about the men who hurt you and your mother?"

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_please review :-)_


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